


Moments Stolen from Time

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, My first attempt at them, Rufus x Jiya, because this wouldn't leave my head, garcy, side ship - Freeform, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: Lucy needed to get out of her own head. She had a feeling Flynn would be happy to help...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in season 2 before the finale. Just assume Lucy got her own room at some point.  
> Thanks to pinchtheprincess on tumblr for looking this over for me!

“I just don’t like the way he’s been looking at you, okay?” Wyatt’s voice was low and urgent, leaning in toward her in the bunker’s deserted hallway.

Lucy’s mouth fell open and she immediately clamped it shut before something less than polite could emerge. She exhaled sharply through her nose, hands coming to her hips as she tilted her head up at Wyatt. “And what way is that exactly?”

Wyatt looked pained and a small, vicious part of Lucy took pleasure in having successfully baited him. Another part of her felt petty and ridiculous but the righteous anger she still harbored over Wyatt’s change of heart was just enough to blot that out, for now.

“You know what I mean, Luce.” He extended a hand toward her shoulder then seemed to think better of it, dropping his arm limply to his side. “He’s dangerous.”

At that, all she could do was shake her head, a bitter smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. “At this point, we all are.” Wyatt looked ready to protest but Lucy held both hands out, palms toward him. “Please. Just… just go to bed, Wyatt."

His lips pressed hard together and he moved slightly closer, her hands almost touching his chest. “Lucy…”

“Go.” She spread her hands wider and took a step away from him. Wyatt looked taken aback at the hard edge in her voice and she took a deep breath then deliberately softened it. “Go spend time with your wife. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself in this enclosed, hidden government bunker.” She made a vague gesture around them.

Wyatt conceded her point with a half-hearted laugh, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Good night, Lucy.”

Before she could answer in kind, the bathroom door opened and Flynn stepped out with a towel slung around his shoulders. His hair was wet and he wore only a pair of sweatpants sitting low on his hips. He looked between Lucy and Wyatt, taking in the awkward space between them. “Did I miss the fun part?”

Wyatt’s jaw clenched, the line of his shoulders going rigid again. “Good night, Lucy,” he repeated, barely acknowledging the other man’s presence.

Flynn’s eyes narrowed at Wyatt but he said nothing. He leaned against the door frame, overly casual, and addressed Lucy. “Seems early for bed, doesn’t it? I still have that bottle of Glenlivet to open.” He grinned at her, “And I do hate to drink alone.”

Lucy fought the urge to let her gaze travel past Flynn’s face as she licked suddenly dry lips. The invitation was being made more for Wyatt’s sake than her own but it was still tempting. She’d been in Flynn’s room more nights than she’d been in her own in the last few weeks. She didn’t sleep there and they’d never so much as kissed but she was perfectly aware he wanted her. Wyatt was, in fact, rather late to the party in seeing it.

At first she’d ignored it; the lingering heated looks, the way Flynn would make little excuses to touch her - always in politely acceptable ways. He’d place a hand at her back to guide her into a room, offer her his arm on trips when she was disguised as his wife. When she didn’t push him away, he got bolder.

Lucy, bereft of all connection, still grieving the loss of Wyatt (while having to share a tiny space with him and the woman she'd lost him to) found she welcomed the attention. The distraction. She knew she ought to be ashamed of it, the way she leaned into him when he dared to put an arm around her at a play in Edwardian England. Or the way they’d danced closer than necessary at a nightclub in 1940’s Beirut. Sure it felt good being touched by an attractive man, how he sometimes sent a cascade of shivers all the way down her spine with the simplest gesture. He’d stroked a single finger down her neck while complimenting her updo on their last trip and she'd spent the rest of the evening just slightly flushed. 

She hadn't been able to decide if she was sending him the wrong signals or exactly the right ones…

Wyatt cleared his throat, breaking her reverie and Lucy realized she had, after all, been unabashedly staring at Flynn’s torso, well shaped and still damp from his shower. Flynn looked highly amused and Wyatt was clearly furious.

Great. Just how she’d wanted her night to go.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Both of you just grow up.” She turned to walk away and heard Wyatt do the same, his heavy footfalls echoing in the hall.

Later, perched on her cot in PJs, she heard a knock at her door. Sighing, she crossed to crack it open.

Flynn. Eyes downcast, holding the aforementioned bottle in front of him. “I… came to make peace.”

She nodded to the bottle. “Is that an offering?”

His mouth flicked up at the corners. “If you’re willing to share?”

Lucy bit the inside of her lip, contemplating the tall man outside her door. He looked back at her, his expression guileless and searching, hooded eyes that hinted at the deeper sadness he always carried. He looked… lonely. It could be an act. But did she even really care?

It was late and she was lonely, too.

She opened her door.

***

An hour later, Lucy was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy. The previous events of the evening had faded to the back of her mind and Flynn was entertaining her with impressions of his very superstitious grandmother. They sat side by side on her cot, passing the bottle generously between them.

“I’m serious! The house was filthy until after New Years. And guess who was tasked with cleaning it up?”

Lucy laughed. “Hmm, I’d guess a certain young man who was… what was it?” She affected an Eastern European accent, recalling a previous anecdote he'd shared, “Strong as an ox but twice as stubborn as a bull?” She knocked her knee playfully into his.

Flynn’s face split with a glowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You do have a good memory. Of course, I knew that already.” He reached over and twirled a lock of her hair between two fingers, brushing the end of it against her nose. “Brilliant.”

It was such a familiar gesture, so unexpectedly intimate that Lucy froze, her eyes locked on his. Her lips parted but she realized she had no idea what to say. So she said nothing.    

Flynn’s smile faded as he released her hair, looking away into an empty corner of her room. Leaning both elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers between them, he swallowed audibly.

Just like that, the levity had somehow faded, leached away by all the unspoken things between them.

Lucy thought about why she kept spending time with this man. He was dangerous - Wyatt wasn’t wrong about that. She’d seen Flynn kill, needlessly waste life and recklessly mar the history she so adored.

And some future version of herself had helped him do it.

Five years from now, if he was being truthful, she’d be his accomplice. What were they to one another, then? What were they now?

Lucy screwed her eyes shut, pressing her hand to her spinning head. Too much to think about. It was all too much. Everything she’d seen and done and been. The things she was yet to do. The woman she’d become. She didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not yet.

She didn’t want to think at all.

Taking a deep breath to steady the sudden quaking in her chest, she slid closer to Flynn, their outer thighs pressing together. She placed a hand on his leg, mid thigh, and felt the muscle tense under her palm. His head turned toward her, a question in his dark eyes.

She answered it with a kiss.

He responded immediately, one hand cupping her cheek and the other reaching across to shape her waist and pull her bodily closer. She let him set the pace at first, opening up to him as he sipped from her lips, warm and slow. But it was just too gentle, too tender. Too reminiscent of all the things she was trying to forget.

She nipped at his bottom lip, burying one hand in his hair and giving it a tug. Flynn made a low, feral sound at the back of his throat and deepened the kiss. Lucy tilted her head, their tongues sliding together as his hand at her waist slid to her hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. And oh yes, this was good. This was what she wanted from him.

She rewarded him by scratching her nails against his scalp and he groaned his approval, his hand now roaming the length of her body as the other twisted into her hair, keeping her close. He pulled her head back and trailed biting kisses down her throat. Lucy gasped and clawed at his shoulder, her body nearly sideways on the cot in an attempt to get even closer. When he found her mouth again, this time she took the lead, exploring him thoroughly, chasing the smoky taste of scotch through their mingled breath.

Lucy broke the kiss reluctantly, her neck starting to ache from the awkward angle. Flynn made a noise of disappointment, searching her face as she rose from the cot. They were both breathless and no doubt she looked about as wrecked as he did. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, his hands clutching the rumpled blankets on either side of his lap. His arousal was evident through the sweatpants and Lucy felt an answering pulse at her core.

“Is this… are you… alright?” he managed at last, watching her carefully.

She nodded. “Yeah, great actually.”

He grinned. “Good.” He extended a hand toward her,making a beckoning gesture with two fingers.

Lucy stepped closer, straddling his knees, her hands coming to his shoulders. “Just…” He met her gaze steadily, his hands framing her hips. She licked her lips and continued. “You know I’m trusting you, right?"

A somber nod. “I do.”

“Okay, then.”

And with that she was in his lap, his hardness throbbing against her center, sending delicious sparks through her body as she ground against him with abandon. Their mouths met messily, raw need overcoming finesse. His hands found her ass, squeezing and kneading as their lower bodies rocked together, the cot beneath them squeaking in protest at nearly every movement.

Flynn’s mouth traveled to her neck again, planting hot, open mouthed kisses, licking and sucking at her pulse point and seeking out all those little sensitive spots with eager determination. Lucy writhed in his lap, clutching his forearms and gasping as he discovered one secret after another. Her mind was blissfully blank, nothing but Flynn’s mouth and hands and the building heat between them.

Without warning, he scooped her up and rose from the cot, swallowing her yelp of surprise as it escaped her lips. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips.

“What are you doing?”

“That little cot can’t handle the things I want to do to you,” he rumbled in her ear.

Shivers of anticipation licked up the length of her spine as he set her on the desk in the opposite corner of the small room. Once she was seated, Flynn leaned away just enough to pull his shirt over his head. This time, Lucy made no pretense over drinking him in, tracing the hard lines and planes of his body first with her eyes and then her fingers. She could feel his quick shallow breaths, the way his stomach trembled as her hands ventured lower. When she met his eyes again, at last, the fire there could have consumed her in an instant.

His mouth crashed down on hers, his hands sliding under the tank top she wore, thumbs just brushing the undersides of her breasts. He tugged lightly at the fabric. Asking permission, she realized a moment later.

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips and they pulled apart again long enough for him to strip her of the unnecessary garment. She was braless beneath it and his hands were big enough that each of her breasts fit perfectly into his palms. He cupped them as he kissed her again, first her mouth then the hollow of her throat, bending to tease one nipple and then the other with his tongue and teeth. Lucy leaned back on her hands, back arching to present herself to him. Flynn sunk to his knees between her legs as his hands continued to play at her breasts. He flicked his tongue against her bellybutton, nipping at the skin just below it. Lucy squirmed and panted her encouragement.

Flynn smoothed one hand up her thigh and pressed his thumb against her center, rubbing her through her pajama pants and panties. Lucy’s head lolled back as her hips shunted toward him, her lips half forming his name in a desperate plea for more. More pressure, more skin, just more, more, more.

With a chuckle, he plucked at the waistband of her pajama pants and she lifted her hips as he helped her shimmy out of them, her underwear going with them. Before she could even register that she was completely bare before him, Flynn was propping her legs over his shoulders, kissing and biting his way up the inside of one thigh. She placed one hand behind her to brace herself as she rolled her hips toward him, the other hand stroking his hair. He glanced up at her, his expression hungry. She nodded again though she wasn’t sure why he was even asking at this point. That seemed to be all the answer he needed, though, because the next thing she knew was his tongue between her folds, lapping and sucking, eating her voraciously as she struggled to bite back her moans. 

She rode his face to climax, clutching his hair for dear life. As she came down from the shuddering aftershocks, he pet her gently with two fingers, tracing her entrance, teasing with little additional flicks of his tongue until she pushed him away.

He rested his head against her thigh, grinning like the cat who caught the canary, his face still shiny with her juices. “Still alright?”

Lucy blinked down at him and thought about how that was possibly the most unanswerable question she’d ever been asked. And then she began to laugh. Because just in this moment, in a post orgasmic glow, in the dark with the deadliest man she’d ever known, she felt oddly free. Untouchable. She’d crossed a line and there was no going back. It was a deal with some kind of devil, she was sure, but at least now she knew just how good a fall from grace could feel.

Amidst her giddy realization, Flynn rose to his feet, wiping his mouth on his forearm, and raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. She reached for him wordlessly, pulling him close to rest her head against his chest, his heartbeat racing in her ear as her manic bout of amusement fizzled out. Flynn wrapped both arms around her, stroking her hair with that uncomfortable kind of tenderness that she wished he wouldn’t show. She needed him to be different. She needed him to be dark and twisted and complex and unknowable. Otherwise the world would stop making sense and there was a chance that what they just did - what they were about to do - would have much more meaning than she was ready for.

She pushed his arms away and reached toward his sweatpants, his hardness tenting the fabric, a damp stain having formed at the tip.  

He caught her hands. “We, ah, we don’t have to do anything else tonight.” A soft smile. “There’s no rush.”

Lucy shook her head. “No time like the present, though, right?” She giggled again at her own half pun.

Flynn looked troubled. “I don’t… There shouldn’t be any regrets about tonight.”

“Do you have any?”

“No,” he answered instantly, almost before the words had left her mouth.

She palmed him through his pants, tracing his length and feeling her excitement return full force. He pulsed against her hand, hot and thick and so very hard.

“Good.”

She pushed his sweatpants to the floor and wrapped her hand around him. Flynn closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath as she began to stroke, gathering moisture from the tip to ease her way. His eyes opened again and he brought one hand to her cheek, fingers grazing her jawline as his thumb brushed against her lips. She parted them to flick her tongue against his thumb and he pressed it into her mouth. She suckled the digit as her hand increased its pace.

Flynn groaned and removed his hand from her mouth, kissing her hard as he leaned her back onto the desk. It was cold on her bare back but Flynn was burning up against her, warming her quickly as he replaced her hand on his cock with his own. Aligning himself with her entrance, he slowly pushed in. Lucy clawed at his back, her legs lifting to take him further, deeper inside her, until he was fully seated. He swore quietly in what she assumed was Croatian and pressed his forehead against hers.

She tilted her head to catch his mouth, rolling her hips into his and he took the hint, pulling halfway out of her to slam home again. It was her turn to swear and he nibbled her neck as his hips began to move in earnest. Lucy met him thrust for thrust, panting against his shoulder and feeling herself spiral up up up. He snaked a hand between them to rub at her sensitive little nub and Lucy dug her heels into his lower back. She was so close and he felt so good and if she could just live in this mindless moment, animal and raw in all the ways she'd never been allowed.... maybe she would be a different Lucy, the one who could take on time itself....  Flynn's teeth sunk into her neck and that was it, she was gone. She was breaking apart, the world dropping away to nothing but the white hot pleasure uncoiling inside her. Flynn pistoned his hips, muttering in at least two different languages as he planted reckless kisses anywhere his mouth could find skin. It was almost too much, her legs were shaking and her heart was ready to burst in her chest when she felt him go rigid, her name a breathless whisper on his lips.

They stayed there for a minute, both regaining their breath, before Flynn pushed himself up, slipping out of her. He helped her down from the table and made to pull her into his arms again but Lucy dodged away, grabbing her clothes from the floor. Her cheeks hot with sudden, unexpected shame.

“I should, um. You know, I should get some sleep.” She pulled her top over her head and ducked to pull on her bottoms, purposely avoiding his eyes. She needed him gone now. So tonight could just be what it was and not anything else. Not a beginning or an ending. Just a moment in time where she felt something different. Something new and terrifying and bold. She couldn't live in that place, be that woman. Not yet. Not now.  

Flynn ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Right.” he stared at her briefly, expression unreadable. “Right,” he repeated and began to pull on his own clothes.

Feeling more awkward than she could remember, Lucy lingered by the door until he made his way over. He hesitated before dropping a light kiss to her forehead. Then he was turning to the door.

“Wait!”

He turned back quickly. “Yes?”

“The Glenlivet. There’s still plenty left.” She inclined her head to the forgotten bottle on the floor by her cot.

Flynn’s face fell and Lucy felt it like a blow to the gut. He recovered quickly, shrugging one shoulder. “Keep it. I’m sure I can get more on another trip.”

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wrapping her arms around herself.  “That doesn’t seem fair. I know how much that must have cost.”

A roguish smile that didn't meet his eyes, something of the old Flynn - back when she thought he was just the bad guy. “I didn’t pay for it.”

“Oh.” She should have known that. Just as she should have known how seriously he'd take her dismissal. How quickly he'd retreat. “Well, either way…” she considered her next words carefully. “Perhaps you’d like to… come back and finish it with me. Sometime?” She met his gaze at last.

He blinked at her, something shifting below the surface as his mouth pursed. “Hmm. I could be persuaded.”

She closed the distance between them and pushed onto her tiptoes to kiss him, just a quick peck goodnight, her own little peace offering. “Until next time.”

His mouth quirked upward and Lucy felt her own mouth curve in reply. In the next breath, he took her by surprise, wrapping one long arm around her waist and bending her slightly backward as he kissed her soundly. “Until next time,” he murmured, righting her back onto her feet.

And then he was gone.

Lucy slumped against the wall, feeling depleted. The effects of the liquor were gone but the effects of Garcia Flynn …. Those might linger for some time. His scent was on her skin and she could still taste him, feel how he’d moved inside her. It had been good. Really fucking good.

Some part of her had wanted him to stay, Spend the night curled around her on that cot. The better part of her knew it would have been too much - would have made a statement. A promise she didn't know how to keep. That was why he had to leave. But she couldn’t stay cold, couldn’t just turn it off the way she wanted. So there was the suggestion of _next time_.  Just short of a promise and definitely not a lie. Next time  was just nebulous enough.

It didn’t have to mean anything. It wasn’t the beginning of something.

It just wasn’t an ending either.


	2. Words get in the way

Jiya was running one hand through her long hair and yawning as she head into the kitchen area of the bunker. Garcia caught the movement out of the corner of one eye and waved at her with a spatula. Her forehead wrinkled as she took in the sight of him bent over their tiny gas stove, tending the pancakes.

“Good….morning,” Jiya said, after a pause.

“Good so far,” Garcia nodded, turning his attention back to the pan. “There’s coffee ready and these should be done shortly, if you’re hungry.”

“Um, thanks.”

He heard her pouring her coffee and settling into a chair, then the inevitable sounds of her laptop coming to life. He exhaled heavily. Hopefully, they could all at least make it through breakfast before the next catastrophe began.

Garcia flipped the first set of pancakes onto a pate and half turned. “Ready. Bacon is over there.” He tilted his head in the direction of the plate loaded with bacon he’d made earlier, in case she’d somehow missed it from the wafting smell.

Another pause, Jiya half frozen in her chair and staring up at him.

He rubbed his forehead, face scrunching. “I’m not gonna poison you. You’re only valuable as a hostage if you’re still alive.”

Jiya made a face but seemed to break from her holding pattern, approaching to put a pancake on one of the empty plates he’d left out. “You know how not funny that is, though, right?”

Garcia shrugged, offering a crooked grin. “It was funny to me.”

Jiya shook her head and muttered something he took to be vaguely insulting to his mother as she buttered her pancake and returned to her seat.

“See if you still hate me after tasting my mastery of the Bisquick arts,” he rejoined, spooning more mix onto the pan.

“Wow.”

Garcia’s head flew up at the sound of Lucy’s voice. “Good morning, Lucy. Breakfast?”

Lucy blinked at him. “Um. Not in much of a breakfast mood. More of a black coffee and Tylenol kind of morning.”

He frowned slightly. She certainly hadn’t seemed that drunk when he’d left her room the night before. Or when she kissed him, let him undress her and taste her, when she’d been holding him fast as she shuddered her pleasure beneath him… He adjusted his stance and turned his hips discreetly toward the stove. Slacks were less revealing than sweatpants but he wasn’t a barbarian. No matter what Jiya might think.

“Did you get back into the bottle after -”

Lucy cleared her throat and gave a sharp shake of her head, her eyes darting toward Jiya and back to him.

He glanced behind him where Jiya was heartily digging into her second pancake with one hand, the other flying over her keyboard.

Garcia wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and set his spatula down, moving closer to Lucy. “Was it… a bad night?”

Lucy’s cheeks colored slightly and she looked down before returning his gaze, her hip leaning into the counter beside them. She slid one finger along the counter’s ledge, scratching over the rusted metal. “No. It…. it started out, um, well.”

He raised both eyebrows and her flush deepened.

“Very well,” she amended.

Garcia allowed himself a satisfied smirk and leaned in closer, just inside her personal space. He could smell the antiseptic soap kept in the bathroom but below that something softer, a perfume or conditioner perhaps. He inhaled, eyes wandering to her mouth by sheer force of habit. Yes, she’d smelled like that last night, floral with a hint of musk. Notes of both innocence and seduction, deeply entwined to produce a complex and unique whole. He liked the metaphor.

Lucy glanced again at Jiya, whose gaze had yet to leave her screen, and backed away from him. “Just had some bad dreams. Had trouble getting back to sleep.” She crossed to the coffee maker and helped herself to a generous cup.  

Feeling oddly bereft by her swift retreat, Garcia regained his place at the stove - and not a moment too soon. There was just the slightest hint of burnt cake as he flipped the ones he had cooking. His mouth twisted, looking down at them. The endeavor seemed less worthwhile, if all Lucy was having was coffee. Ah well, most of the mixture was already made.

The women greeted one another as Lucy sat. Garcia popped a piece of bacon into his mouth, leaning back against the counter as he chewed thoughtfully. Unbidden, his gaze kept returning to Lucy and he’d have to guide it away. She’d been hot and cold with him before, one moment pressing against him on the dance floor of a Mediterranean nightclub, the next barely acknowledging him as they passed one another in the hallway. She’d come to his door half the nights last week, telling him about everything from childhood secrets shared only before with her sister to her fears for the future. But by morning she was practically a stranger again. 

Of course, when Wyatt was around, Lucy kept her distance from everyone, retreated within herself. Garcia knew part of her was still hurting, though the other man was possibly the only topic she never breached in their late night chats. Which was likely a wise choice on her part. Lucy would never ask but Garcia would have no compunction about slowly breaking every bone in Wyatt’s body. Not that he had any complaints about how things were working out - Wyatt had gotten back something neither Garcia nor Lucy seemed any closer to ever having again. Not just a person but a peace of mind. A chance to recapture a past once thought lost forever.

Garcia didn’t begrudge the younger man a moment of happiness with Jessica. It was just that Wyatt’s happiness had involved Lucy’s pain and that was the unforgivable part. Not to mention Wyatt’s continued unwanted intrusion in Lucy’s life, not allowing her the time and space to heal and move on.

Garcia was under no illusion that going to bed with him meant Lucy was hale and whole, once more. It takes broken to know broken.

Plopping the last of the pancakes onto his own plate, Garcia moved to the table and sat beside Lucy. She eyed him sidelong but said nothing which he took as a small victory. The three ate in silence until Rufus wandered into the room and made a little sound of surprise.

“Flynn made pancakes,” Jiya inclined her head.

Rufus looked genuinely confused. “Flynn made pancakes?”

Jiya nodded, serving her boyfriend as he sat beside her at the table.

“Yeah, it's apparently a thing he does now. You know, besides murder.”

Garcia snorted a laugh just as he was drinking his coffee and felt the liquid rush back the wrong way. He continued to cough and Lucy jumped to her feet to pound him in the back. When he could manage a few wheezing breaths, he waved her away. She sat facing him with an assessing look on her face.

Touched, he leaned forward to place a reassuring hand on her knee. His thumb lightly stroking in a semi circle. Lucy's lips parted slightly, her gaze dropping to his hand on her leg and then flicking to his lap. The corner of Garcia's mouth twitched upward. He slid his thumb toward the crease of her knee and heard her inhale a little more sharply than normal.  

“Good morning, all,” Agent Christopher greeted them as she strode into the room.

Lucy snatched her knee from under Garcia’s hand and turned back to face the table. Those gathered chorused greetings.

Agent Christopher came around to stand behind Jiya, surveying the computer. She nodded. “Quiet night, huh?”

“For some more than others,” Garcia muttered into his plate.

Lucy kicked his shin under the table.

“You heard them, too?” Rufus asked.

A second too late, Garcia realized he was being addressed and turned toward Rufus. “Sorry?”

“The Logans. It's like living next door to a couple of bunnies. Very loud bunnies.” Rufus gestured with his fork.

Jiya giggled into her coffee cup and Rufus, clearly encouraged  by this, began to describe some of the noises in exaggerated detail.

From his peripheral, Garcia saw Lucy go tense, her hand on her own cup white-knuckled as she forced a genial expression. Garcia interrupted Rufus mid-wailing sound, to ask Agent Christopher if she would join them for breakfast.

“Ate at the house, but thanks.” She rested a briefcase on the side of the table and pulled out a slim folder. “We think we may have found something, another small change in the past that doesn’t quite fit… Lucy?”

Lucy looked up from her cup. “Hm?”

“If you wouldn’t mind going over this once you’ve eaten?”

Lucy had opened her mouth to reply when a shuffling of feet and a soft peal of laughter brought all eyes back to the doorway where Wyatt and Jessica were entering, hand in hand. The two barely seemed to notice there was anyone else present, their gazes locked on each other.

Lucy knocked back the rest of her coffee in what looked like a single gulp and rose quickly. Garcia winced in sympathy as Lucy banged her hip against the table in her haste. “No time like the present. I mean, I guess there is. Because we have a time machine.” She shook her head as she took the file from Agent Christopher with one hand, rubbing her hip with the other. “What I mean is, let’s just go do this.”

Jiya and Rufus greeted the other couple and the two women struck up a brief conversation as Wyatt made more coffee, without sparing so much as a glance for Garcia.

Garcia, finding his own appetite significantly decreased, took a few more bites before pulling away from the table with a deliberate (and satisfying) screech of the chair. He saw Wyatt’s shoulders go rigid and bit back a wry smile. Jiya raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged it off. “I’ll be in the rec room. Call me if the world is ending.”

And with that, he retreated to the small area designated for exercise to work off some of the vicious thoughts nipping at the heels of his racing mind.

***

The world was not ending but they did have a mission that day, after all. October 24th, 1929. The first day of the Great Crash that began the Depression. Lucy looked quite elegant in her pearl lavalier and Garcia found himself distracted by fantasies of her wearing that and nothing else. He could picture himself wrapping it lightly, playfully around her wrists and pulling them over her head. Her back arching, presenting her delightfully pert breasts to him, her nipples hardening with her mounting desire. He could give the necklace just a little tug to bring her to tiptoe as he pressed her back against the nearest wall. One hand would keep her bound while the other would make her moan, teasing and exploring until she was panting and incoherent with need.

He was partly lost in these pleasant musings when the woman herself shook him back into reality by calling his name from a few rooms over. Wyatt was holding off three hired thugs single-handedly but he was clearly starting to sweat. Garcia was happy to jump into the fray. There was a rousing exchange of blows and brief smattering of gunfire but everyone got away mostly clean. Garcia felt a sharp pang of something potently stronger than disappointment (he refused to even consider the word _jealousy_ ) when he saw Lucy give Wyatt’s arm an affectionate squeeze as she assessed them both for injuries.

Rittenhouse was thwarted but they’d managed to sow a little mayhem in the process. Lucy and Rufus ended up saving a banker from jumping to his death but at the cost of losing track of the Mothership.  

On the way back to the Lifeboat, parked out of the city and just past some farming territory, Lucy was silent and contemplative. Rufus and Wyatt were having a quiet conversation and didn’t seem to notice but Garcia fell back to walk beside her. He knew she was overthinking. Overfeeling. Running through all the damage her impulsive heroism may have done on both a micro and macro level. He leaned in a little closer, running the back of one finger gently along her forearm.

“You did what you thought was right,” he murmured.

Lucy shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t get to decide that.”

“Sometimes, you have to.”

Her mouth was a thin, grim line. “Maybe that’s easy for you to say. But I don’t just take these things into my own hands. I can’t just…” she gestured with both hands facing one another, “I can’t just singlemindedly ignore the fallout. I’m not like -” she stopped herself abruptly, mouth stuttering open and closed as she looked up at him and then away.

It was enough to get her meaning. And despite himself, Garcia felt the unsaid barb hit its mark. He knew who he was, what he had become. And he knew that she knew because he’d never been anything but honest with her about that. She’d come to him anyway, in truce, in friendship, even sometimes in understanding. She’d gone to bed with him under no illusions. But somehow this, knowing that she was so repulsed that she couldn’t even bring herself to say it aloud… that still stung.

His voice was rougher than he’d have liked as he finished her sentence. “Like me, you mean.”

They both stopped walking and she turned to face him, eyes round in an apologetic face. “I didn’t… I know you’re trying… I know it’s different now.”

The pity in her expression just made it all the worse. Garcia frowned deeply, fists clenching involuntarily at his sides as he fought back a flare of temper. “Trying? Is that what you think I’m doing here? Trying to fit neatly back into your narrow concept of morality? Boxing myself up for your…” he searched for the right word in English, “for your consumption?” He wasn’t sure that was it but it would have to do and he was too far in to second guess.

Lucy made an incredulous sound “Are you kidding me? You want to call me narrow? The man who went about with rage-blinders on, gallivanting through history with no regard for-”

“Is everything okay, Luce?” Wyatt interrupted, his voice sharp and crisp in the the otherwise quiet field.

Garcia cut his eyes to the younger man, taking in the hand that rested just over his pistol. A fire flared in his belly and he felt his blunt nails sinking into the flesh of his palms. He took a breath to try and calm himself as Lucy’s eyes darted nervously between the two of them.

“Just peachy, Captain America,” Garcia gave a mocking salute.

Wyatt took two steps closer, shoulders squared and feet falling into a fighting stance. “I don’t believe I was talking to you, terrorist.”

“Wyatt!” Lucy admonished.

A smug little laugh escape Garcia and Lucy glared up at him.

Rufus stepped from behind Wyatt and held a hand out to each of them, palm facing out. “C’mon guys. It’s been a long day and I’m sure we all want to get back. Or if you don’t, I really, really do. It’s Classic Star Trek night and Jiya has this whole outfit planned…” he cleared his throat. “Um, point is, Rittenhouse still knows where - and when - we are, right now. Safest bet is to not be here.”

Lucy nodded. “I’m with you.” She walked toward Rufus, looping one arm in his. “You two can stay here and piss on stuff all night, if you want. But _we’re_ going home. Now.” She and Rufus turned back toward the ship.

Expression sour, Wyatt followed suit.

Garcia took another moment to collect himself, savoring the mental image of putting a bullet in the back of the other man’s head. He would never do it. He didn't even really dislike the other man that much. And Lucy would never forgive him. Besides, she had a point - he was trying to do things differently, these days. It had been easier, in many ways, to just play the part of the ruthless avenger. Things got more complicated with other lives on the line. With feelings about things and... people. Be a team player, he reminded himself. He shuddered at the very turn of phrase, tucked his hands resolutely in his pockets, and kept his head down the rest of the way back.

As they exited the lifeboat, Wyatt purposely shouldered him out of the way to catch up with Lucy and walk beside her, murmuring some sort of half-assed apology. Rufus clearly saw it happen but simply shook his head and ran to the arms of his waiting lover. At least Lucy glanced back, just once, after she shrugged off whatever Wyatt was saying and disappeared in the direction of her room. There was something unspoken in her gaze but Garcia didn't want to read too much into that. He left the debriefing to Wyatt and Rufus; their word meant more than his ever would, around here.

It was only once he was back in his room that Garcia let his mask of impassivity drop, collapsing onto his cot and ramming his fist into the pillow hard enough to make it bounce. He exhaled heavily, running both hands through his hair. _Be a team player._

And what a fucking team they were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm super slow to update but part of that was debating if I wanted to make this fic a WIP or leave it a one-shot. Well, my love of dialogue won out in the end and so we have chapter two. Good news it that chapter three is started already and there will be more smut in that one :-)
> 
> Please forgive any small canon mistakes (or send me a message to correct them) - I need to do a rewatch but haven't had time so I'm working mostly from memory and wikia... Also this chap is totally unbeta'd.


	3. Oh Won't You Stay

There was a soft knock at Garcia’s door just before midnight. He knew who it was before he got up to answer. Only one person it could be.

“Hey,” Lucy glanced down at the floor then up at him.

He said nothing, knowing how silence could unnerve her.

She rocked on her heels, smoothing both palms down the front of her flannel PJ pants. “Can I, uh,” she pointed to the interior of his room. “Is this an okay time? To talk?”

Garcia blinked twice in rapid succession. “Mmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to check my social calendar.”

His effort was rewarded by a half smile as Lucy tilted her head to one side. “Social calendar or antisocial calendar?”

He grinned. “Touche.” Standing aside to let her in, he quickly touched his hair to make sure it wasn’t too much of a disaster zone.

Lucy gave a cursory glance around the room before turning to face him as he closed the door. She had scrubbed off the makeup and piled her dark hair atop her head in a messy bun that drew attention to her lovely, graceful neck. Out of habit, he fought back the urge to nuzzle it before remembering that he might not be unwelcome, any longer.

Garcia closed the space between them in a single long stride, cupping her cheek with one hand and bending to capture her lips.

She inhaled against his mouth “Wait.”

Swallowing his disappointment, he dropped his hand to his side.

“I just came to talk. About today and the,” she sighed and took a small backward step, “the things we said.”

“Talk.” He nodded. “Right.” The last thing he wanted right now was more words between them, another chance to blurt out things they might regret. All he’d been able to think about all day was her skin and her smell and the soft little noises she made at the height of her pleasure. He didn’t care that they’d fought. He knew he’d forgive her. He’d forgive her anything.

She also nodded, lowering herself to the bed and curling her legs beneath her.

Somehow he was reminded of the very first night she’d come to his room. She’d sat gingerly on the bed, looking unsure if he would join her there, unsure if she would want him to. He knew even then that sitting so close was a temptation he’d rather avoid, especially with alcohol involved. He’d cleared off the chair and sat across from her the rest of the night, only rising to refill his glass and later to tuck her in.

After a moment of indecision, Garcia sunk into the same chair, resting his elbow on one of it’s tattered arms and his chin against his hand.

Lucy’s forehead wrinkled. ‘You don’t have to be all the way over there. I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“How do you know I’m not mad at you?”

Her mouth twisted. “Are you?”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “Well then?”

He spread his hands in a defensive gesture. “You want to talk. I want to listen. But if I join you on the bed looking the way you do right now… I don’t trust myself to hear a word.” He clapped the arm of the chair. “Safe listening distance.”

Lucy ducked her head but not before he saw her secretive little smile and the way her cheeks tinged pink. “I can’t believe you think you can get away with just saying things like that.”

“I thought you preferred me honest.” He sat back and interlaced his fingers.

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Garcia chuckled. “Actually, I think what we’re doing now is commonly known as ‘banter.’”

“And don’t we do that well,” Lucy mused, picking at a thread on the seam of her pants.

“We do other things even better, if last night is any indication,” he let his voice fall low, into a velvety baritone.

Lucy met his eyes, then, and he watched a breath roll through her, saw a hint of teeth at the edge of her lower lip. He felt the heat rising between them, could feel her waiver in her resolve to just talk. It was a struggle to stay in the chair, to keep himself looking nonchalant.

She gave a breathy half laugh and turned her head away, pulling the sides of her button-down shirt closed over the thin tank top beneath. “Okay, I should have known you wouldn’t play fair.” She was silent a moment. “Maybe I should just go.”

His grip on the arm of the chair tightened. “If that’s what you want.”

She shook her head, her voice so soft he could barely hear it. “I don’t know what I want. I thought I did but…” One shoulder jerked up and dropped.

Garcia wet his lips. “But that option got taken off the table,” he observed dryly.

She looked up abruptly. “What?”

“Wyatt,” the name was bitter on his tongue.

“Oh. I mean yeah, I guess that too. That whole situation is just...” she grimaced, “I don’t know if there even is a word for that.” A humorless smile. “Is there even a word for when your lover's wife comes back from the dead?”

He pretended to contemplate this for a second. “If there is, it's probably German.”

Lucy gave a half choked laugh then clapped her hand over her mouth as she seemed to realize how loud it had been in the otherwise quiet bunker.

Garcia laughed at her adorably embarrassed expression and Lucy smiled sheepishly back at him. The urge to kiss that smile was nearly overwhelming. They shared a familiar silence as Lucy seemed to be gathering her thoughts.

Finally she sighed and made to get up. “I should get some sleep. Who knows when we might have to take off again.”

He rose quickly, all pretense dropping away at the thought of her leaving. “Stay.”

She sank back onto the bed, her head tilted back to keep meeting his gaze. When he licked his lips, he noted her eyes flicking to his mouth. He took a step toward the cot.

“Stay the night. With me.”

Lucy’s eyes slid away toward the door. She hesitated and Garcia’s heart sunk to his toes.

“Please,” she said at last.

He raised an eyebrow and she gave a coy little grin in return.

“You’re supposed to say ‘please stay.’ So it’s a choice, not a command.”

A wave of relief washed over him and he smiled. “Please, Lucy.”

She gave him a lingering look, leaning back on her hands.

Garcia moved closer to the cot and dropped to his knees. Lucy was momentarily startled before understanding dawned and she uncrossed her legs to allow him between them. He rested his palms on the top of each of her thighs, smoothing his thumbs inward as he had just that morning. Lucy tilted back, propped up on her elbows as Garcia bowed over her, kissing each collarbone and trailing the tip of his tongue up her neck.

“Please,” he whispered in her ear before nibbling the lobe. She made a sound of approval and tilted her head to give him better access. He kissed and nibbled his way down her neck sliding both hands up to grip her hips and pull them gently toward the edge of the cot. Lucy exhaled sharply as he rolled his growing erection against her center. He fancied he could feel her heat through the layers of fabric.

Balancing his weight with one hand on the cot, he ran the other up and down the length of her torso, his thumb lingering teasingly over one taut nipple and then curving over her hipbone with each pass. She moved her hips restlessly against him as he returned his mouth to hers, tasting her thoroughly and seeking still more. They were pressed bodily together, grinding with a desperate, reckless kind of need, and it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to breathe the same breath, he wanted to put his mouth on every inch of her and know every tiny spot what gave her even a spark of pleasure. He wanted to devour and consume and supplicate and worship.

Garcia tried to put all of these thoughts that could never be spoken into his kiss as he lowered Lucy to the mattress, her arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders as her legs wrapped loosely around his hips. Her fingers tugged at his hair and he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, breaking the kiss just long enough to look down at her face. So decadently flushed, her eyes dark and heavy lidded as her kiss-swollen lips parted with each rapid breath.

She looked a question at him and he answered with a wicked grin, moving swiftly out of her grasp and tugging off both her PJ pants and underwear in one deft motion. She stifled a giggle with one hand and blushed darker as he fit one hand to the crease of each hip, spreading them apart so he could admire her dark curls and the dusky pink lips nestled there, gleaming with her arousal even in the low light. He groaned deep in his throat and saw Lucy’s fingers curl into the sheets, her legs parting further of their own accord, inviting him in.

Garcia bent his head to one thigh and planted a line of open mouthed kisses up its length stopping just at the apex. As he did so, one hand smoothed up over her belly and then down the other thigh, his fingers flicking into the crease of her knee. Lucy sighed, leaning back up on one elbow to run her fingers through his hair.

He kissed her lower belly, just over her curls, ruffling his nose through them as both hands continued to trail up and down her inner thighs, fingertips ghosting across the skin. Exhaling a hot breath over her sex made her hips judder slightly and he smiled to himself, one hand planting flat across her hip to hold her in place.

Lucy made a greedy little sound. “Flynn….”

He looked up. “Garcia.”

She met his eyes, lips going thin for a moment.

He gently stroked one finger of his free hand the length of her slit, turning his hand to just barely tease the wetness at her entrance.

A breath shuddered through her and she gave a tiny nod. “Garcia….”

He swore at the sound of his proper name on her lips and rewarded her with a bold swipe of his tongue, tracing her nether lips and swirling over her sensitive little hooded nub. Lucy whimpered a little and Garcia palmed his hardness to relieve some of the sweet ache as he tasted her again, musky and ripe, bursting on his tongue like an opulent wine. He felt her tremor under the hand that still held her in place as he licked and suckled, her wetness starting to drip down his chin. Moving his mouth up to her clit, he dipped a single finger within, her inner muscles already eager to squeeze and clamp. He muffled another groan against her soaking flesh and added a second finger, his now unattended cock throbbing almost painfully against its cotton confinement.

As he began to pump his fingers in and out, Lucy’s hips began to move in rhythm. He ventured a glance at her face and saw her biting her hand to stay quiet. He increased his pace, curling upward to stroke her sensitive spot with every inward thrust. He wanted to make her lose control. He wanted to make her scream for him. Only for him. Fuck the rest of them if they heard. They were nothing to him.

Everything was Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Her scent heavy in the air, her arousal coating his mouth, how she milked those digits within her as her thighs began to shake.

He felt her come, her body trembling hard against the flimsy cot, against his sides. Their own personal earthquake. Garcia bit the inside of his jaw to keep himself from following her over the edge like a horny schoolboy.  

He pet her gently through the aftershocks, trailing lazy kisses over her abdomen and hips. Once she'd taken a moment to catch her breath, she pulled herself back up to sitting and blinked at him, a little dazed and wild eyed. 

"You are... a man of many talents, Garcia Flynn."

Before he could answer, she'd claimed his mouth, pulling him further onto the cot with her until they were lengthwise. The rest of their clothing was hastily shucked and he almost cried out in pure relief as she wrapped a hand around his cock. He was achingly hard and aware he wouldn't last much longer. Two firm strokes had him clinging to the edge with his fingernails.

"Lucy..." he entreated, his voice nearly a growl.

With a mischievous little grin, Lucy straddled his hips and positioned him at her entrance. "I could get used to this," she murmured, brushing his flushed head against her soaking folds, "you, powerless, like a tamed beast... begging me for just a little. Bit. More." With each of the last three words, she took him inside her by another inch.

Enflamed by her teasing, by the feel of her so needy inside and so aloof without, Garcia thrust upward sharply. Lucy gasped aloud, her upper body falling forward onto his chest.

Garcia pressed his advantage, wrapping both long arms around her and pinning her against his chest. “Even tamed beasts bite when they feel threatened, Ms. Preston,” he breathed against her ear, burying himself deep within her heat.

She groaned, rocking her hips to meet his next hard thrust. “I was counting on it.”

The fact she knew exactly how to bait him would have to be considered another time as his body reacted on instinct. It took no more than another minute or two before he was too far gone, spending himself within her as his teeth sunk into her neck.  
She hadn't come again but he was happy to remedy that with his hands, delivering her two more orgasms before she pushed him away with shaking hands.

Damp with sweat, she curled into his side, one finger tracing aimless patterns across his chest. Silence fell a long moment.

“Was this in my journal?”

Startled from a half doze, Garcia tilted his head to try and see her face. “You never read it.” It wasn't really a question.

Lucy shrugged against him. “Sometimes the more we know, the more chance we have to screw it up. I figured I'd rather not know.”

He considered his answer carefully. “You mostly wrote what I'd need to know to get started.”

“Mostly?”

“I thought you didn't want to know more.”

He felt her jaw and throat work as she swallowed.  
“I should get some sleep.” She began to pull away but he tugged her back toward him.

“You said you'd stay.”

Her mouth twisted as she regarded him with a troubled expression. “Flynn…”

“Garcia,” he corrected.

Lucy exhaled heavily through her nose. “You know this is a bad idea, right? Especially here and now.”

“Here and now is all I've got.”

“You don't know that.”

He couldn't bring himself to answer that, only meeting her gaze steadily. 

Some part of him did know. Had always known. He was a man living on borrowed time. Someday that debt would be collected - sooner than later more like. Funny that it was only lately he'd thought to mind.

Lucy looked away first, running a hand through her mussed hair. “I'm tired, Fl- Garcia.”

“Me too.” They were all bone weary with the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Lucy nodded absentmindedly and lay back down on his chest, his arm automatically pulling her in close.  
“Just until we get some rest. Not the whole night. Deal?”

He kissed the top of her head, pushing an unexpected lump down his throat. “Whatever you want, Lucy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously this is not a self encapsulated story and it may go on if inspiration strikes again....  
> Anyway, I know this chapter took forever to post. It got longer than I wanted it to. I have some ideas for other chapters but nothing concrete. Feel free to leave prompts in the comments or on my tumblr: Thescholarlystrumpet 
> 
> Thx for reading! <3


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